


Deal

by LadyElayne, QuinnAnderson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Cocaine, Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyElayne/pseuds/LadyElayne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinnAnderson/pseuds/QuinnAnderson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes a deal with Lestrade that leads to some very sexy consequences all over Lestrade's desk and some voyeuristic fun for our dear Molly Hooper. Pre-A-Study-in-Pink. Porn alert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The unexpected consequences of working overtime.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyElayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyElayne/gifts).



> So, after I wrote the porn goodness that was "Apodyopsis", I got propositioned to write some Sherlock/Lestrade. At first I thought, "Deviate from Johnlock? Pfffft, never!" but then I remembered that I have the serious hots for both Benedict Cumberbatch and Rupert Graves, and them together would be a yummy combination. Variety is the spice of life, amirite?
> 
> This fic is set before John and Sherlock meet, and it's going to have two parts. The first is written by me (this chapter), and the second will be written by my co-author, LadyElayne, who was also the woman who requested the fic in the first place. The second chapter will feature some voyeurism on the part of Molly Hooper, so there's a lil somefin for everyone. Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: This is straight-up, unmistakable, unabashed porn. Between two men. And you're going to love it. Oh, and there are mentions of cocaine use. But mostly porn.

  
…

…

Lestrade massaged his temples gingerly and tried for the hundredth time to rein in his temper.

Two police officers had barged into his office at New Scotland Yard ten minutes ago, dragging a thrashing man behind them. It hadn't taken more than a glance for Lestrade to identify both the man and the reason why he was causing such a commotion. It was Sherlock Holmes, and he was strung out on cocaine.

Again.

It was obvious from his blown pupils and the way he was babbling out what seemed to be every single thought that popped into his head that he was pretty far gone. He was currently collapsed into a chair opposite Lestrade's desk, his long limbs splayed in a way that would have been elegant had he been the slightest bit less annoying. Lestrade supposed he should be thanking his lucky stars the officers had thought to bring him here instead of taking him straight to booking. Sherlock really didn't need another black mark on his record, and Lestrade was running out of favours to call in. The officers had apparently discovered him wandering the streets, shouting deductions at random people who walked by. Someone had eventually called in a noise complaint.

This was happening far too frequently of late.

"Sherlock," he began, but the lunatic either ignored him or couldn't hear him over the steady stream of verbal nonsense he was producing. He tried again, slightly louder, "Sherlock."

The other man paused long enough to draw a deep breath before continuing his unfettered monologue. Something about hypothermia and the effects of alcohol on putrefied flesh.

Lestrade's patience snapped like a thread. "SHERLOCK!" he bellowed.

Miraculously, Sherlock actually fell silent. He looked dazedly at Lestrade, his body weaving slightly as he struggled to stay upright in his chair.

"That's better," Lestrade commented drily. He walked over to the glass window in his wall by the door and peered through the open blinds at the rest of NSY. The cubicles that lined the main office were all darkened and empty. It was well beyond the end of the work day, and only Lestrade had stayed behind tonight to work on some paperwork that had been piling up for weeks now. That was yet another reason why it was miraculous that Sherlock wasn't in a jail cell right now.

"You can't keep doing this," Lestrade said without turning around. He thought briefly about the lab results he was waiting on before deciding he probably wouldn't get any more work done now that Sherlock had flopped unceremoniously into his evening. "I know you get bored, or whatever other tired excuses you're using these days, but your drug addiction is killing you."

"I'd rather be dead than spend all my time plodding along obliviously like you lot do." Sherlock's voice wavered as he spoke, as if he were focusing very hard on some words while barely remembering others. "You're all so vapid."

Lestrade sighed, walked behind his desk and fell heavily into his chair. He rested his elbows on his armrests a moment later and pressed his palms together, peering over them to study the man sat across from him. Sherlock was dressed somewhat decently this time in a dress shirt and trousers and a thick coat that looked like it might actually enable him to survive a night outside in the freezing cold. That was quite a bit better than usual. He had a streak of dirt on his cheek, however, and his pale irises were so glazed they almost blended in with his eyeballs.

It was such a waste, Lestrade couldn't help but think. Sherlock was easily one of the loveliest men he'd ever seen, yet he chose to destroy his body with drugs. He was so brilliant when he wasn't doped up. If something happened to that incredible brain of his, the world would truly lose a masterpiece.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said again, desperately trying to gather the last tattered remnants of his patience, "you're going to get yourself seriously injured or worse. You can't wander the streets at night in your current state. You're too vulnerable when you're not in your right mind. One of these days, someone is going to take advantage of you."

Sherlock's face underwent a strange metamorphosis at that last sentence. Lestrade couldn't quite tell what it was, but it instantly put him on guard.

Sherlock's voice was low and unreadable when he spoke next. "And of course you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Lestrade answered cautiously, "No, I wouldn't."

"Because you need me."

Something about his tone made Lestrade's skin prickle. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. "Well, yes, I suppose I do."

Sherlock leant forward, his eyes glittering. "Because without me, all those cases you brought me would still be unsolved. Because without me, you wouldn't be able to take credit for my genius. Because without me, you probably wouldn't have been promoted to DI."

"Stop it, Sherlock," Lestrade said in a warning tone. "You're just trying to wind me up so I'll kick you out and you can go back to burning holes in your brain. You know I care about more than just your ability to solve cases."

He wasn't entirely certain why he'd said that. Sherlock and him had never intimated before that their relationship was anything more than a working one. Now that he'd said it, however, he realised it was true. He did care about Sherlock. He was a stark-raving, inconsiderate, aggravating bastard half the time, but Lestrade knew deep down he was a good man.

Sherlock seemed to have been stunned into silence by his declaration. He was studying him intently, and Lestrade had to fight not to squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze. He felt strange tension building in the air that he couldn't entirely identify.

When Sherlock finally spoke, his words made not a lick of sense to him. "You've never been quite like the others, have you?"

Suddenly, he stood up, and Lestrade was instantly wary. If Sherlock was going to make a run for it, there was little he could do to stop him. He might have to put out an APB.

To his surprise, however, Sherlock took a step to the left. "It's true, what you just said. You do care about more than my brain." He took another step, which brought him around the corner of the desk. "You care about a lot more than that, actually." He moved forward, and Lestrade belatedly realised he was removing the only obstacle between them. His heart started to pound for reasons he refused to acknowledge. "I infuriate you. I antagonise your officers and make you feel inferior. I announce all your secrets to the world and then laugh at the perplexed look on your face." Another step, and Lestrade fought futilely against the heat that was flooding into his cheeks as the distance between them slowly closed. "I cause you endless amounts of trouble, yet you can't stop employing me because I'm the only ace up your sleeve. You need me."

Sherlock was right next to him now, and slowly, achingly slowly, he bent down until his mouth was right by Lestrade's ear. "And you want me."

The Detective Inspector jerked away from him as if he'd been burned. Without thinking about it, he swiveled his chair around so he could face the madman next to him. "Sherlock, that's absurd! I'm  _married,_  for God's sake."

"Yes, and your wife is a serial adulterer whom you have not slept with in eight months."

Lestrade's jaw dropped at first, but then he passed a hand tiredly over his eyes. "I don't know how you know that and frankly I don't want to know, but that doesn't make your statement any less ridiculous. I do not  _want_  you. I consider you a colleague and maybe even a friend."

"Then why are you half hard from my proximity alone?"

Lestrade glanced down at his lap. God dammit. "Look, whatever you're implying—"

"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock leant over him, forcing him to press back into his chair. He then placed one long-fingered hand on each of the armrests, caging Lestrade in and making his penetrating gaze unavoidable. "I'm telling you what you already know yet stupidly refuse to acknowledge. You. Want. Me. You've wanted me from the moment you laid eyes on me. I saw it in your rapid breathing and the way you couldn't stop fidgeting. It's why you keep consulting me even though your supervisor would never approve. It's why you pull so many strings to keep me out of prison. It's why you're now fully hard and squirming in your chair like a schoolboy. You care a great deal about my brain, but I'd venture to say you care just as much about my body. I'm tired of waiting, Lestrade. I'm ready to do something about it."

Lestrade's mouth was suddenly very,  _very_  dry. God, this was humiliating. Here he was letting himself get all hot and bothered over a drugged-up arrogant wanker, and Sherlock looked as calm as if he were reading the dictionary aloud.

Lestrade took a deep, steadying breath and looked the other man square in the eye. "Fine. I admit it. I'm attracted to you. Good on you for riddling it out, but that doesn't change the fact that two of my officers hauled you in here earlier today because you were blitzed and raving like a madman. This has to stop, Sherlock. You're going to really hurt yourself."

"And that would bother you." His voice had dropped to a velvet rumble that shot straight between Lestrade's legs. "I see. I suppose I should get on with it then. I've been rather negligent thus far."

Lestrade started to ask what the bloody hell he was on about, but then his heart stuttered to a halt in his chest.

In one liquid, flowing movement, Sherlock put both knees on either side of his and slid into his chair. And into his lap.

If Lestrade wasn't hard before he was impossibly, achingly hard now. He struggled to keep his hands to himself. "Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to make you a deal." The consulting detective drew his hips slowly back only to slide them forward again and press their groins flush together. Lestrade only barely managed to bite back a moan. Fuck if that didn't feel amazing. "I will stay off drugs for one entire month," he leant forward and placed his lips right against Lestrade's ear. His voice vibrated into him and shivered down his spine, "if you throw me over this desk and fuck my pompous, public school brains out."

For one unending moment that seemed to last for decades but was probably more like five seconds, Lestrade's entire brain shut down. Then it rebooted so slowly, it was obviously running Widows XP.

"Sh—" he started, but he choked on the rest of that syllable. He didn't want this. He couldn't want this.  _God,_  he wanted this so fucking badly. He glanced at his desk and could perfectly envision Sherlock splayed across it with his cock buried deeply in him. Lestrade swallowed thickly and steeled himself against the desire pumping hot and heavy into his veins. "Sherlock, I am not going to have sex with you while you're on drugs. You're not yourself right now."

"Aren't I?"

And suddenly he was completely different. The glaze was gone from his eyes. He wasn't bobbing like he could barely hold himself up. The feverish sheen of sweat on his forehead had magically evaporated.

Lestrade blinked, utterly confused. "How the fuck did you sober up in an instant?"

"I was sober from the very start. Do keep up."

Sherlock sat back a bit and appeared to be patiently waiting for him to piece it all together. Slowly but surely, he did. "You . . . you  _pretended_  to be drugged out of your mind because you knew the officers would bring you to me?"

"Very good. It seems you're not a complete waste as a detective after all."

"But why? Why the hell would you do that?"

"I deduced that if you saw me in a seemingly hazardous state enough times, your inherently protective nature would dictate that you must interfere. You would beg me to stop, and if pressed you'd be willing to make a deal with me. And as you can see, you are currently being pressed quite insistently."

Sherlock rubbed their groins hotly together, and this time Lestrade was too startled to contain his moan. It echoed loudly in the empty office, and he ducked his head down in embarrassment.

Sherlock threaded his long fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and used it to pull his face back up until their eyes met. He'd settled into a steady rhythm of grinding against him in slow, smooth circles, and the friction was bloody amazing.

"Fuck," Lestrade panted despite himself and then gripped the armrests tightly, "that feels good."

"I know it does," Sherlock said in a smug voice. His own erection was pressing up against Lestrade's, heavy and swollen with blood. "So, do we have a deal?"

Lestrade opened his mouth to answer, but with Sherlock thrusting their hips together so tantalisingly, he couldn't seem to get any air in his lungs. He gasped, trying to look anywhere but into the piercing blue eyes that were inches from him and failing miserably. He was so hot and so hard and so impossibly aroused by this, it was incomprehensible.

Sherlock chuckled wickedly, obviously aware of the effect he was having on the DI. "I said: Do. We. Have. A. Deal." He punctuated each word with a rock of their hips together, and Lestrade couldn't stop himself from grabbing him and digging his fingers into his skin. Blast, that torturous touch was going to be the death of him.

Anyone could come in and see them. There could be an emergency and someone could come looking for him. It would be so easy for them to get caught.

And Lestrade didn't care in the slightest.

He fisted his hands in the front of Sherlock's stupid, posh shirt and crushed their mouths together.

Sherlock seemed startled for a half second, as if he hadn't really expected Lestrade to give in that easily, but soon he was kissing him back with fervour. Their tongues slid eagerly against each other's, tasting the honeyed warmth that was their combined mouths. Sherlock nibbled on his lower lip, and Lestrade gasped against him.

His neck came next, and it was all the DI could do to grip Sherlock's back as his teeth and tongue worked themselves over his sensitive flesh. The room suddenly seemed about ten degrees hotter than it had before. Sherlock's mouth was doing amazing things to him—biting his collarbone and lapping at his pulsepoint—and he never wanted it to stop. It worked its way back up to his lips after a brief but highly pleasurable detour to his right ear. When it arrived at its destination, the two men once again made every effort to devour each other.

Sherlock pulled back after what—in Lestrade's opinion—was not nearly enough hot, hungry kissing. A moment later, he shoved a hand between their bodies and began frantically undoing their trousers.

"Too much clothing," he muttered irritably. "We're wearing far too much clothing."

Lestrade could only sit there in a daze, half convinced he'd fallen asleep at his desk and was now having a rather obscene dream. At some point Sherlock had taken off his coat and now he had his pants and trousers off his incredibly thin legs in what had to be record time. Lestrade's erection was inexplicably peering up at him from the open front of his jeans. Sherlock's cock was long and thin, much like the man himself, and was standing straight up between his legs from a nest of black curls.

"Sherlock, slow down," Lestrade sputtered feebly when the other man rose up on his knees and seemed about to impale himself on his prick. "We have to get you ready." Now that he thought about it, he didn't have anything they could use as lube.

"Already taken care of. Feel for yourself." Sherlock took his hand and quite brazenly drew it around his hips and stuck it between his arsecheeks. Much to Lestrade's surprise, he could plainly feel that his entrance was not only slippery with lube but quite well stretched.

He blinked, completely gobsmacked. "You mean to tell me you prepared yourself before you let those officers arrest you in anticipation of me agreeing to fuck you? And then you sat across from me, pretending to be on drugs, with an arse full of lube for fifteen minutes?"

"Precisely."

Lestrade stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head. A moment later, however, he shrugged and said, "Well, thank God for that. I don't think I can wait much longer."

He grabbed Sherlock's slender hips, lined them up with the head of his prick and thrust up into him in one smooth motion, sinking in as far as he could. The cries that erupted from them both were equally startling. Sherlock was so hot and tight and perfect inside, and now he was gripping his shoulders for dear life, trembling against his chest. Lestrade held his hips still through a great exercise of self-restraint, searching for signs that he'd hurt the other man.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh God," Sherlock moaned, his eyes screwed shut, "I swear, Lestrade, if you don't start moving—"

Lestrade huffed out a quick breath of amusement before pulling almost entirely out of Sherlock and plunging back in again with a ragged moan. "Always so demanding. By the way, I think it's all right for you to call me Greg now."

"Well, Greg," Sherlock was gasping and flushed in a delicious way, "kindly fuck me harder."

Lestrade, for once, didn't resent the order. He slid down in his seat to give himself better leverage and then began to piston his hips, driving his prick rapidly in and out of the other man. The sounds that poured from Sherlock were so filthy, they made him even harder. His face was twisted into a look of excruciating ecstasy, his mouth slack and his cheeks flooded with pink. Lestrade couldn't tear his eyes from it, especially when Sherlock matched his rhythm, raising himself up when Lestrade pulled out and shoving himself down when he thrust in, forcing even more of the older man's prick into his body.

"Fuck," Lestrade moaned through clenched teeth. "Oh, fuck, Sherlock, that's good. Just like that."

Sherlock responded with a tortured mewling sound. "It's not enough." He opened his eyes and looked at him through the bleary haze of his arousal. "It's never going to be enough. I need more, harder and faster and more. I need to feel you burning inside of me for days. I need it, Greg. I need you to fuck the thinking out of me."

Lestrade swore as the words reached his erection and made every nerve ending tingle. It had to be impossible to be this turned on. With a growl, he grabbed Sherlock by the hips, lifted him up as he scrambled to his feet and threw him onto his desk, precisely as he'd asked him to. Sherlock was sprawled on his back, blinking at him with surprise, but he didn't have long to look that way. Lestrade was on him in an instant, throwing one of his long legs over each of his shoulders, lining himself up and plunging back into him with enthusiasm.

Sherlock threw his head back and keened. He reached his hands up to grip the edge of the desk above his head as Lestrade pounded into him, cursing all the while. In this position, he could grip Sherlock's thighs and hold him still while he shoved himself into him again and again, making quick, ruthless thrusts that shook the desk and drew loud moans from them both.

God, it felt so good to be buried in that tight heat. It was even better than he'd fantasized. He had to wonder now why he'd forced himself to pretend he didn't want Sherlock. The man was gorgeous, especially spread out in front of him, naked from the waist down, blushing and moaning like a wanton thing. 

Lestrade felt a familiar pressure building up inside of him. In a few minutes, an orgasm of near-terrifying magnitude was going to rip through him, but first he needed to see Sherlock come. He reached down, wrapped a hand around his neglected prick and began pumping him in time with his hard thrusts. Sherlock was practically screaming, writhing on the desk like he couldn't stand the pleasure coursing through him. It was by far the most erotic thing Lestrade had ever seen. He already knew he was going to wank to that image for months to come.

Sherlock's eyes shot open when he came, and Lestrade thought he looked surprised by the force of the pleasure spiking through him. His semen coated his stomach in hot globs, and his entire body clenched up. That was all it took for Lestrade to follow right after him, choking on a final moan and struggling to thrust erratically through the ecstasy of it until he was spent.

When it was over, they both gasped for breath. Sherlock's arms were limp above his head, and Lestrade was resting a sweaty forehead against one of the legs still thrown over his shoulder.

Once he'd regained the ability to breathe, the DI said in a quiet voice, "I rather think I'm getting the better end of this deal."

Sherlock chuckled and rubbed his face with one large hand. "Just wait until a month from now when I show up here again."

Greg pulled gently out of him and fell back into his chair, not even bothering to do up his jeans. His whole body ached in a very satisfying way. "Does that mean we can't fuck again in the interim?"

Sherlock raised his head up just enough to look at him. "Would you want to?" His tone suggested the thought had never occurred to him.

"Um, let me think.  _YES_. That was bloody amazing! And not just because it's been eight months for me."

"Hm," Sherlock seemed to be considering the notion, "then I suppose we can."

"I should be deterred by your lack of enthusiasm, but honestly I couldn't care less. If you're okay with it, in about 30 minutes I have every intention of having you on half the desks in this building."

"So long as one of them is Anderson's, that's fine with me."

"Deal."

…

…


	2. Molly's Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly, dropping off important lab results at New Scotland Yard, walks into negotiations between Sherlock and Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my very first fan fiction, I used to write porn a long time ago but due to the likes of Cumberchelz, Petra Todd and Chasingriver, I just had to come back. Please be kind, but I would love to hear constructive criticism. 
> 
> I would just like to note that this story was in part inspired not just by my wonderful beta, Quinn Anderson, but also by a sexy little fic called Under Control by the talented ScarlettWatson over on FF.net Thank you for reading!

‘I’ll ask Molly. She never has anything to do after work, and she won’t mind rushing these results right on over…”Molly grumbled; mocking the deep sound of DI Greg Lestrade’s voice. Looking longingly at the clock, she bowed her head once more to her microscope; analysing two blood samples that DI Lestrade needed right away. “Why am I always such a bloody pushover with that man..? Exhaling loudly, she knows exactly why she can’t say no to that man.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they first met, it took all the restraint Molly had not to push him down on the table and please him in every way her mouth was capable. His dark chocolate eyes were so sensual; they nearly took Molly’s breath away. Watching him introduce himself was more effective than every porno she had ever seen. His lips forming the regular introductory words gave Molly an overflow of inspiration, causing her to imagine those succulent lips kissing her, tasting her. This mental image of course turned her into a blushing, stuttering school girl and left her feeling like less than the sexual being she wanted him to see her as.   
Ever since she did everything in her power to be available when he needed her to be, until she found out that he was married. Recently however, she had begun to notice him looking a bit more interested when voluptuous women crossed his path. The kind of women that would likely be more than interested in a quick shag with no names…the kind of women that Molly wasn’t…well, the kind of woman that everyone thought Molly wasn’t.   
Most women her age were interested in finding a husband to settle down with. Molly however, was more interested in finding a man with whom she could become unsettled. A man who could dominate, control and inspire her, someone she could share her whole sexual being with, and someone who would be able to accept and thoroughly enjoy the abilities and experiences a bi-sexual woman could offer them. There was something special about being with another woman. It’s true that no one knows how to touch a woman, quite like another woman does. But as much as being with women aroused her, it always felt like as more of an appetizer than a main course. To fully finish, a man was needed, a strong man who could hold her down and fuck her hard and heated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before Lestrade came to visit the Morgue that night, Molly had planned on spending her evening at home with a glass of wine, some take away and a very long bath. She looked forward to her baths; they always worked to ease her muscles after a long day at work, and allowed her to fantasize about the lovely Lestrade…or whoever else she might have come across that day. While some prefer to masturbate as though it were akin to brushing your teeth, Molly preferred to drag it out for as long as possible. Enjoying every caress, every slow pull of her finger tips and every twitch of her muscles, truly submerging herself in the fantasy. Thoughts of how she planned to ravage her body that evening helped to pass the time before she could leave the hospital.   
Of course, just an hour before it was time to lock up, Lestrade in all of his delectable glory came strolling in. All smiles and eyes, he requested that she run a lengthy blood analysis for him, licking his lips just before saying that he would need the results brought over to him tonight at NSY. Over the years, Molly had become very adept at hiding her desire for Lestrade, but she still had an overwhelming need to please him. Before she could even catch herself she told him she didn’t have any plans tonight anyway and would love to help. Greg released a sigh of relief, mumbled something about her being more helpful than Sherley… Sherl…something; she couldn’t quite hear that last part. Taking a deep breath she picked up the samples and got to work.  
Nearly 4 hours later, Molly was finally closing up the Lab so she could quickly drop off the results and get home. Her fantasies would just have to wait another day. Molly was never one for just a quick rub off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dragging her tired body out of the elevator at NSY, she’s trying to recall exactly where Lestrade’s office is when she hears his deep, sensual voice coming from the opposite corner of the large darkened room. Weaving her way in between desks and cubicles she walks over to the door and prepares to knock but then she hears something that causes her body to immediately react. Panties become moist, labia swells and her heart beats just a bit harder at hearing the most delectable voice on the other side of Lestrades door saying,   
“You do care about more than my brain.”  
Molly freezes briefly before she hears a chair move and someone begin to walk around in Greg’s office. Thinking they have heard her, she quickly steps back a bit bumping into one of the desks. Daring herself to peek through a gap in the blinds she sees the most beautiful man she could have ever imagined swaying a bit as he moves over to Lestrade. Possibly drunk, or high, his movements are wobbly and uncertain, but oddly still overwhelmingly sexy.  
“You care about a lot more than that, actually . . .” His voice is like auditory pornography, causing her already swollen clit to begin to throb. Her panties are so wet she can feel it slipping down her legs, she squeezes her thighs together in hopes of relieving a bit of her tension.  
” I infuriate you. I antagonize your officers and make you feel inferior. I announce all your secrets to the world and then laugh at the perplexed look on your face. . I cause you endless amounts of trouble, yet you can’t stop employing me because I’m the only ace up your sleeve. You need me.”   
Molly watches as this dark beauty wavers a bit then slinks around Lestrades desk and places his lips next to Greg’s ear. Frozen in sexual purgatory, Molly is incapable of any movement except for the rhythmic flexing of her thigh and PC muscles as she watches what might be the most erotic moment of her life. Now that the vocal angel has stopped speaking, his words finally dawn on her…”Greg can’t possibly be gay, can he?” a small twinge in the pit of her stomach causes her to regret what she may never get to taste. Seeing Greg become a bit fidgety and a beautiful blush creep up his neck into his cheeks, she finds the idea both ridiculously arousing and a bit depressing. She may never get the opportunity to participate in his pleasure. Out of nowhere Lestrade jumps nearly out of his chair, forcing it backwards away from the brunette beauty, yelling.   
“Sherlock, that’s absurd! I’m married, for God’s sake.”   
‘Sherlock, YES! That’s what Greg said earlier!’ Figuring this conversation is just about over now, she begins to gather her items to approach the office door. Before she could even pick up her purse she hears Sherlock say.  
“Yes and your wife is a serial adulterer whom you have not slept with in eight months.” Leaving her items behind she leans closer to the glass and sees Lestrade clearly aroused by Sherlock who is now hovering over his chair, trapping him. This scene is like oxygen to the fire between her legs. Completely blanketed in the darkness of the room, she knew that if she was quiet, they would never know she was there. The pressure of sitting on the desk adds a wonderful jolt up her spine causing her clit to jump. Reaching down her body and into her trousers, she grazes the outside of her panties with her finger nail. Immediately feeling the soaked satin just enhances the burning need between her legs. Situated perfectly to see and hear the action in the office she keeps her eyes on the two beauties in front of her. Her right hand slowly slides across the crease between her labia through the moist satin. She hears Lestrade trying to sound firm saying   
“I don’t know how you know that and frankly I don’t want to know, but that doesn’t make your statement any less ridiculous. I do not want you. I consider you a colleague and maybe even a friend.”   
Molly now expecting the scene to end once again begins to pull her hand from her aching clit.  
“Then why are you half hard from my proximity alone?” Sherlock says  
“’Oh..god..’” Molly breaths; the mere thought of these two sensual beings together causes her muscles to shudder around her fingers, abruptly stopping her movements. She tries to fight back the urge to come at the thought of Lestrades hard erection.  
“Look, whatever you’re implying—”  
“I’m not implying anything.” Sherlock tells Greg, leaning further towards him causing Greg to push back in his chair.   
“I’m telling you what you already know yet stupidly refuse to acknowledge. You. Want. Me. You’ve wanted me from the moment you laid eyes on me. I saw it in your rapid breathing and the way you couldn’t stop fidgeting. It’s why you keep consulting me even though your supervisor would never approve. It’s why you pull so many strings to keep me out of prison. It’s why you’re now fully hard and squirming in your chair like a schoolboy. You care a great deal about my brain, but I’d venture to say you care just as much about my body. I am tired of waiting Lestrade. I’m ready to do something about it”   
Finally taking in the beauty that is Sherlock, Molly sees a tall slender man with gorgeous brunette curls and eyes that would mystify the sea. They were a beautiful glassy grey green that sparkled with sin as he looked longingly at Lestrade. His mouth was partially opened and as if waiting for everyone to pay attention, his soft moist tongue glides slowly across his bottom lip.   
Molly reaches her left hand up to her mouth, moistening her index finger then dragging it slowly across her bottom lip; imagining Sherlock’s tongue on her mouth, in her mouth… in her. Her right hand has given up the torturous light touching and has now plunged into her panties and is slowly rubbing around her hard clit. Not touching it just yet, but teasing the little nub with the sides of her fingers; dragging them slowly along her wet opening. Glancing at Lestrade she notices that his cheeks become a bit red, he is breathing just as heavily as she is and it’s painfully obvious that Lestrade has a rather nice erection forming in his pants. Wanting that beautiful cock to fill her up she slowly slides two fingers deep inside her wet, hungry fissure. Biting back a moan, she brings her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking on it as her left hand begins to graze her right breast. Momentarily becoming lost in her own arousal, she hears Greg exclaim,   
“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?” Forcing her eyes open she sees Sherlock climb on top of Lestrade in his desk chair, Sherlock’s knees on either side of Lestrades thighs. Sherlock breathes heavily, saying   
“I’m going to make you a deal.” All motion inside as well as outside the office has stopped, waiting to hear what this proposition could be. Watching as Sherlock slowly grinds his hips into Lestrade he says  
“I will stay off drugs for one entire month,” Molly strains to hear the rest of this deal. Watching as Sherlock gets closer to Lestrades ear, he whispers something that Molly can’t quite make out and for a brief moment Lestrade stops breathing. Then he tries to utter  
“Sh—” swallowing and taking a deep shuddering breath he continues;  
“Sherlock, I am not going to have sex with you while you’re on drugs. You’re not yourself right now.”  
An unbelievably sexy half smile starts to form as Sherlock says, “Aren’t I?”   
An immediate change occurs in Sherlock’s demeanor. He becomes graceful and catlike, the glassy sheen is gone from his eyes and he simply looks like liquid sin, draped across Lestrade’s lap.   
“How the fuck did you sober up in an instant?” Lestrade exclaims.  
“I was sober from the very start. Do keep up.” Again that cocky half smile as Sherlock gauges the reaction from Lestrade.   
“You . . . you pretended to be drugged out of your mind because you knew the officers would bring you to me.” Lestrade exclaims.  
“Very good. It seems you’re not a complete waste as a detective after all.” Sherlock states as though it was completely obvious.  
“But why? Why the hell would you do that?”  
“I deduced that if you saw me in a seemingly hazardous state enough times, your inherently protective nature would dictate that you must interfere. You would beg me to stop, and if pressed you’d be willing to make a deal with me. And as you can see, you are currently being pressed quite brutally.”   
Watching from outside, Molly hadn’t even begun to truly abuse herself, lost in the erotic back and forth between the two men. But seeing Sherlock finish his evidence, then heavily grind onto Lestrades lap was hot enough to cause her clit to twitch to life once again, and moisture to rain down her fingers. A loud, throaty moan escapes Lestrade sending visible chills down Sherlock’s spine and Molly’s as well. Slipping two fingers back inside her she begins to just graze her clit with her thumb while her left hand is under her shirt rolling her right nipple in between her fingers.   
“Fuck that feels good,” Lestrade breathes   
Smiling at the irony of his words hearing them tainted by lust causes a heated chill to rush down Molly’s spine shooting directly into her clit. Breathing heavily, but trying to keep quiet, her eyes roll back in her head as her slick fingers glide across her painfully hard clit.   
“I know it does”, Sherlock whispers….”So, do we have a deal?”   
Molly sates her breathing momentarily to wait for the answer she so hopes to hear. Her fingers slowed and are teasing her pussy slowly dragging the crease between two fingers across her clit and down into her. Then oh so slowly repeating by dragging them out again and again; going so softly she can barely stand it, wanting to come so much, but needing to see these two do what she hoped they were about to do.   
“I said: Do. We. Have. A. Deal.” Sherlock said grinding into Lestrade with each word.   
Using her fingers hard on her clit, with each grinding of Sherlock’s hips she pressed hard causing her to begin rocking in a corresponding motion. Looking up at Lestrades face, she sees him lost in the beautiful agony of his lust for Sherlock, and he grabs Sherlock’s shirt and quickly presses their lips together. Seeing Sherlock pause briefly, Molly stops moving, thinking that once again these two were going to pull apart. But then Sherlock, overwhelmed by his lust for the man underneath him begins to devour Lestrade; lips and tongue in a maddening dance; all before Molly’s envious eyes.   
Her eyes glued to the image before her, her hands began to explore her body with more intensity. Watching as Sherlock drew his lips along Lestrade’s neck; Molly reaches her hand up and lightly claws at the corresponding place on her throat. Her breathing hitches a bit as her thumb slides over her clit while she imagines being in the middle of these two eager bodies.   
“Too much clothing,” he muttered irritably. “We’re wearing far too much clothing.”  
Molly’s breath stops at the thought of seeing the man she has coveted for years, completely unsheathed and in the flesh should have been enough to send her over the edge all by itself, but add the statuesque beauty of Sherlock and the fact that they are in the process of molesting each other in the most erotic ways possible and that’s all it took. Throwing her head back she feels her hair slightly tickle the back of her arms through her shirt. The air must have come on because a slight breeze flutters through the room, sending a chill across her exposed flesh, making her aroused nipples harder as the first wave of orgasm grips her body. Her muscles contract around her wet fingers, moving harder and faster they press deep into her, the crease of her thumb milking the orgasm out of her. Relaxing briefly; she takes a much needed breath and lifts her head to see two impossibly beautiful erections that reflect each man perfectly.   
Sherlock while tall and lithe had an almost perfect erection, as though made of milky glass. Long and thick it stood out from his dark curls, just waiting for Lestrade to surround it with his warmth. Lestrade, while still clothed, had a noticeably darker penis thrusting through his jeans, but just as beautiful. Thick and strong it made Molly’s mouth water at the thought of taking him deep into her mouth. After her first orgasm washed over her, she momentarily tossed around the idea of leaving quietly…that was until she saw the power that had been hiding in Lestrades pants. Needing to see more, she remained frozen, sitting on the desk, waiting for the next step in this erotic drama.   
“Sherlock, slow down, we have to get you ready.”   
“Already taken care of. Feel for yourself.”   
Lost in the unbelievably hot dialogue, Molly can’t exactly understand what Lestrade means by “getting ready” But as she sees Lestrade reach down and lightly touch Sherlock’s inviting arse it dawns on her. Surprisingly hot, she damn near comes all over herself again just imagining Lestrades hot prick sliding into Sherlock’s tight hole.  
“You mean to tell me you prepared yourself before you let those officers arrest you in anticipation of me agreeing to fuck you? And then you sat across from me, pretending to be on drugs, with an arse full of lube for fifteen minutes?” Lestrade says   
“Precisely.”  
Molly thinks back to the first part of this escapade and chills climb up her spine as she imagines Sherlock slowly preparing himself earlier that evening. That image is enough to make her body convulse once again around the fingers she never actually moved from her wet clit. Without even sliding fingers over flesh, the idea of Sherlock touching himself, fingering his needy hole, and wrapping those beautiful fingers around that exquisite erection was overwhelmingly hot, causing Molly to bite her tongue hard before allowing the rather loud moan to escape her body as the power of coming hard grip her again. The afterglow of this second orgasm now leaving her whole body shaking requires her to fully sit on the desk behind her, pulling her trousers and panties down far enough to ease her bare arse next to the keyboard. Moving personal items out of the way, she leans against the rather old, boxy computer monitor for support as she pulls a tissue from the box on the desk to clean herself up a bit.   
Tossing the tissue into her open purse she glances up and sees Sherlock rising up on Lestrade’s lap with his hands holding the inspectors broad shoulders. Quickly, Lestrade grabs Sherlock’s hips and forces himself into Sherlock, one smooth motion causing the two men to moan and groan loudly as though they had been waiting years to finally be in this position. Molly’s work with the tissue has become futile as her body twitches once again. Wetter than she has ever been before and surprisingly her clit is so hard she can’t get to it fast enough. Propping up her leg on the desk, she spreads herself wider thrusting her fingers as deep inside her hot body as she can. Using the meat of her palm to stroke the hard nub of her clit, she has to bite her lips to keep from moaning repeatedly.   
Somewhat surprised at Sherlock’s response to the deep thrust of Lestrades perfect penis, he asks “Are you all right?”  
“Oh God swear, Lestrade, if you don’t start moving—”  
In response to Sherlock’s sexual demand, Molly sees Lestrade grip Sherlock’s hips hard and raises him up then slams him down, Lestrade’s cock going deep into Sherlock.   
“Always so demanding. By the way, I think it’s all right for you to call me Greg now.”   
Smiling at this Molly nearly thinks that screaming Lestrade in bed might be sexier than Greg, but either way would be perfectly fine with her.  
“Well, Greg, kindly fuck me harder.”   
Unblinking Molly stares at the gripping scene before her; Lestrade has positioned his body so that he can drive hard into Sherlock causing the most arousing sounds to escape that majestic throat. Both men are moaning and growling in the throes of ecstasy, groaning each other’s names as they scratch and claw at each other gaining speed and friction. Unable to tear her eyes away from them, Molly begins to fuck herself just as hard as she can imagine Sherlock is being fucked. Thinking of how it would be in feel Lestrades thick cock sliding inside her, pushing her up so that all her weight is pressed where her body joins his. Keeping his smooth, hot erection deep inside her, then lifting a bit as he quickly pulls out and shoves it back in so deep. Driving her index and middle finger inside her hot cunt, she swiftly ads a third and rams her hand hard against her lips, pressing her clit with each thrust, squeezing her muscles and rocking her hips. Throwing her head back a deep tortured moan escapes her dry lips as she hears Lestrade groan,  
“Fuck, oh, fuck, Sherlock, that’s good. Just like that.”   
“It’s not enough” Sherlock responds “It’s never going to be enough. I need more, harder and faster and more. I need to feel you burning inside of me for days. I need it, Greg. I need you to fuck the thinking out of me.”  
Lestrades reaction to these heated words couldn’t be more arousing if it were scripted. Pushing Sherlock off of him, he throws him on his desk, pushing him back, he grabs Sherlock’s hips and fucks him harder than Molly could have imagined in her best wet day dream. The way she was positioned, sprawled out on the desk, she was just inside the darkness but right outside the office window. A rather large gap in the blinds allowed her the perfect position, so now with her head tilted back, she sees Lestrade pounding into Sherlock’s greedy ass, and his face is perfectly visible and terribly arousing.   
Warm brown eyes are now drenched in lust as he tilts his head back just enough to show beads of sweat trailing down his neck. Sherlock’s legs are resting over Lestrade’s shoulder’s and Lestrade actually licks up Sherlock’s knee sending an unbelievable clenching straight to Molly’s clit. Wanting so badly to close her eyes, to relax enough to come, she is incapable of tearing her eyes away from Lestrade’s. Bowing his head a bit, she sees Lestrade watching the spot where his body enters Sherlock’s, causing him to tilt his hips harder and forces a brutal moan to escape all of them. A frustrated groan escapes Molly as she is lost in her own pleasure, but not coming. Her clit is so swollen and tender and there is a beautiful burn building up in between her legs, but usually by now she would have come…removing her hand briefly she drags it up her body and sticks her index finger into her mouth; tasting her own nectar usually gives her the needed push from agony to ecstasy, as her eyes open, but before she takes her finger from her mouth, she focuses on Lestrade and he is staring directly into her eyes. His expression is coated in sin, his brows tighten and a beautiful crease forms between them, his eyelids heavy he blinks slowly, despite the hard fucking he is giving Sherlock’s writhing body. His lips are full and swollen and his soft tongue slides over his bottom lip as he tilts his head up a bit, closing his eyes, curling his top lip he actually growls.   
Molly feels his chocolate stare all through her body, knowing that he didn’t really see her, she was more aroused by it than embarrassed at the thought of him actually seeing her. His face usually so calm and serene now looks like sex incarnate, every sexual image she had ever seen paled in comparison to those few seconds. Throwing her head back she quickly gyrates on her hand one more, rubbing her hips hard against the meat of her palm she drags from her hard clit all the way to her hungry void begging to be filled. Repeatedly rubbing her clit hard and fast her pussy drips even more, diving her fingers in hard and deep she rocks hard against them, her ass slipping in her own juices that have spread on the desk. Glancing up she sees Lestrade’s strong hands grip Sherlock’s smooth prick and begin to pull in time with his thrusts. Sherlock screams, sending chills and twitches to her nipples, clit and PC muscles gripping her hand deep inside her. Her body is on fire, burning to come as she sees Lestrade please Sherlock so selflessly. Allowing herself to moan she feels the burn becoming stronger and stronger, knowing that this orgasm will be very hard to keep quiet she grabs the nearest thing and shoves it in her mouth. Biting down hard she hears Sherlock groan and growl loud and deep, looking up she sees his prick erupt all over Lestrade’s fingers and coating his smooth abdomen as Lestrade continues to pound deep into Sherlock.   
Knowing that Sherlock’s body was clenching and twitching Molly drags her gaze up Lestrade’s body to his eyes, the crease between his brows become more pronounced, his mouth slacks open just enough to allow a loud agonising moan to escape, his whole body slows as he comes deep inside Sherlock.   
Every nerve in Molly’s body is raw and screaming for release. Seeing Lestrades brow furrow her legs tremble, her fingers twitch uncontrollably and her teeth clamp down on the soft foam in her mouth. Her mind screaming ‘ OH God…Jesus…FUCK!’ She throws back her head and feels her clit twitch rhythmically; her cunt squeezes her fingers and her pelvis rocks hard and quick. The fire centered in her clit begins to feel hotter and wetter than she has ever felt. As the orgasm continues to rock through her body she gyrates on the hard wood of the desk, holding on with both hands as her hot pussy explodes. Hot juices run down the desk and onto the floor, trying so hard not to scream Molly is completely overcome by the most powerful, longest orgasm of her life. After she feels the waterfall of stimulation begin to subside, she removes the squishy toy from her mouth and gulps in a deep breath. Looking down she sees what remains of a stress ball in the form of a large capital A, except now it has distinct teeth impressions and is torn mostly in half; tossing it into her purse on the floor she sits upright and takes her leg off the desk. Her shaking hands reach to pull up her panties and trousers when she sees the mess she has made. Her panties are completely soaked, the crotch of her trousers and the ankle of the socked foot she had propped up on the desk. Pulling up her wet clothing she turns and sees the desk is covered in her come. Grabbing a few tissues from the tissue box she frantically does her best to clean up. Glancing in Lestrade’s office she hears Lestrade exclaim,   
“Um, let me think. YES. That was bloody amazing!”  
Knowing that the men will soon be paying more attention to their surroundings she grabs the tissues, stress ball and purse and leaves the room as quickly and quietly as possible. Getting into the elevator she starts to giggle, completely wiped of all energy and needing both a shower and sleep she is not capable of much more than climbing into a cab to get home. After a long shower she climbs into her bed, her body still overcome in sensation and shaky. Closing her eyes images of Lestrade in mid orgasm pop into her head; out of the blue she jumps up and yells, “Oh my GOD!! I Left the files on the desk!!!”


End file.
